


A-Z of Amerique

by americawashington (ofshadowsandstars)



Series: Amerique [5]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Backstory, Dogs, Drabble Collection, F/F, F/M, Family Feels, Fluff and Humor, Genderfluid Character, Genderswap, M/M, Meet-Cute, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pre-Canon, Pregnant Character, Some sadness, americawashington au, no one's sure if they're friends or not, very minor though
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-30
Updated: 2017-05-21
Packaged: 2018-10-12 20:33:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 9,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10498950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ofshadowsandstars/pseuds/americawashington
Summary: A compilation of drabbles for every character of the Amerique/americawashington au on tumblr. Organized alphabetically by character names.





	1. Aaron

_ Aaron _

_ 2001~2003 _

 

“Alexander Hamilton,” the young man said, extending his hand. Everything about him radiated energy and a fierce determination. It was nauseating.

Somewhat reluctantly, Aaron reached out and accepted the handshake. “Aaron Burr,” he replied. “You in the law program, too?”

Alexander nodded eagerly. “I’ve been wanting to get into Columbia Law since before I even got to the states.”

“You’re an immigrant?”

Another nod. “Nevis and St. Kitts. Moved to Miami when I was seventeen, then to New York at nineteen.”

Aaron nodded. This kid was way too energetic for his tastes, and there was something dangerous about his naivety that he couldn’t put a finger on. Aaron pretended to check his watch, made a lame excuse, and hurried away from the kid. Hopefully, that would be the last of that.

It wasn’t. Three hours later, Aaron went back to his dorm and found that Hamilton was right next door. The next day, when the professor in his first class of the day assigned seats, he was stuck next to Hamilton. Fifteen minutes later, he found out that they had almost every single class together, and there was no way to switch classes.

A week later, Aaron appears to be the only one on the floor kept up by his neighbor’s sexual antics, and if a little of his still-hot coffee spilled onto the brat the next day in class, no one could prove it was on purpose.

Coffee incident aside, Hamilton refused to leave Aaron alone. The constant chatter drove him up the wall, but yet he never raised his voice at his obnoxious acquaintance.  _ Get a grip, Aaron _ , he told himself,  _ you’re above this sort of anger. _

So the years went by, and Aaron stayed quiet. Until the day. The day that Aaron broke his two personal rules: he kissed a married woman, and he snapped at someone.

“You probably wouldn’t shut up if I shot you in the face,” Aaron growled, slamming the fridge door.

Hamilton froze mid-sentence. “I’m sorry, what?”

Aaron threw caution to the wind, looked dead in his roommate’s (they had moved in together because it was cheaper) eyes, and said, “You never shut up. I’ve known you for almost four years, and you have never been able to stay quiet for more than five minutes at a time. And, quite frankly, I hate endless chatter. I hate people who can’t keep even the smallest opinion to themselves. And, more than anything, I detest people constantly invading my privacy. Basically, I hate  _ you _ , Hamilton.”

For several long moments, neither man said nothing. Eventually, Alexander shrugged, grabbed his jacket, and left. Aaron stared at the door for an indeterminate amount of time before throwing away some more caution and calling Theodosia. It went to voicemail. He left a message.

“I don’t want to wait.”


	2. Abigail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Midterm election night. It's Abigail Adams' first time running for Congress.

_Abigail_

_November 2010_

 

“We won!” Nathan cried, breaking the tense silence in the room. Before he even finished talking, the room was filled with the roar of cheers, applause, and confetti poppers.

Abigail held back tears as she hugged each and every member of her team, thanking them profusely for their help in getting her elected. Once most had moved on to celebratory cake and champagne, Abigail hung back and stood next to a man leaning against the wall.

“This seat free?” she asked teasingly.

He chuckled. “For you, congresswoman, always.”

“Congresswoman,” Abigail echoed. “Representative Abigail Adams. Got a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

“I prefer Mrs. Adams, but to each their own.”

Abigail scoffed. “Speak for yourself, _mister Adams._ I just won the Massachusetts eighth, for crying out loud. You think I’m not going to soak in that?”

John chuckled. “Wouldn’t dream of it any other way,” he said softly before pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I’m proud of you.”

Abigail pulled her husband in for an embrace and breathed in the familiar scent of _John_. “Are you sure it’s real?” she murmured.

“As sure as I love you.”

“My god, you two are disgusting,” a familiar Southern drawl declared.

In the space of half a second, Abigail Adams released her husband, stepped back, turned around, and met Thomas Jefferson’s eyes with a hard glare. “Say that again,” she dared, hands on her hips.

“Forgive me,” was all he said, but it was sincere. Thomas knew how to choose his battles.

“Acceptable. You’re not going to steal my thunder, are you?”

Jefferson laughed. “I could certainly try, but everyone here loves you too much to give a damn about my new job.”

“You’re right on that front,” John declared proudly, throwing his arm around Abigail’s shoulder and kissing her temple.

Abigail laughed. Oh, how she loved this little family of hers. “Well, Thomas, I’m happy for you,” he grinned, “but I’m still the woman of the hour. Come on, let’s get some cake and champagne.”

“What would you have done with all the food if you’d lost?” Jefferson asked as they headed for the other room.

“Given it to a homeless shelter and gone to bed,” Abigail replied matter-of-factly. “Not the champagne, but definitely the food.”

About half an hour later, Abigail’s cell started ringing. She smiled at the contact photo and excused herself to go answer it. As soon as she answered the call, she was met with an excited squeal.

_“You won!”_ Eliza Schuyler cried. _“I’m so happy for you, Abby! I knew you could do it! Oh, you’re going to be so wonderful. Everyone is so proud of you! Well, my siblings, Dad, and myself, but still! I’m probably dragging you away from the celebration…”_

“It’s fine!” Abigail reassured. “I wasn’t in the middle of an important conversation. I wasn’t paying attention to the Senate elections; how did it go?”

_“Who cares? You won!”_

Abigail laughed. She really did love this little family of hers.


	3. Adrian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit of lying, a bit of blackmail, but it all worked out in the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to keep these under 500 words each (600 at max, maybe), but I got so invested in this one that I couldn't stop. Enjoy!

_Adrian_

_2006; 2013_

 

“Adrien, _please_ ,” his mother begged. “Just be polite, alright? He’s a sweet boy, and I think Anastasie will really like him.”

He snorted. “You’re trying to set up a marriage between two people who have never met. What century do you think we’re in? And why do I have to be friends with him? Country boys are the worst.”

“Gilbert is different,” she insisted. “He’s loving and considerate. Nothing like the others.”

“You say Anastasie will like him, but you don’t know if he’ll like Anastasie, though.”

“Adrien François,” Henriette growled, “you are coming to the party.”

“I will not! I refuse to pander to farm boys.”

“I’ll take away your credit cards if you don’t.”

“...I’m coming, Mama.”

Which was how three days later, Adrien de Noailles found himself standing in a rose garden with a glass of champagne, greeting every single person that walked by. Luckily, they were all quickly swept away by the beautiful decor and, of course, Anastasie, who was dressed to the nines in a beautiful pastel pink dress and the most expensive shoes she would never wear again. Truly, she looked like a princess.

By then, the party was in full swing and Adrian, though usually a fan of gatherings, couldn’t bring himself to participate. Instead, he was sitting on a stone bench away from the crowd, nursing a flute of champagne while slowly being suffocated by the scent of roses.

“I’m glad it’s not just me that despises these things,” an unfamiliar voice said from behind him.

Adrian jumped up and turned to look at the source of the voice. It was a boy, around Adrian’s age, if not a bit older. He was undeniably handsome; a boyish charm was hiding right below his face, which appeared to be made for smiling. Adri’s heart skipped a beat as he met the boy’s eyes. They were a rich, dark brown mixed in with a hint of amber that made his knees go weak.

“O-oh?” Adrian replied dumbly, not knowing what else to say.

The boy smiled. Adrian’s assessment had been right; he was _definitely_ made to smile. “The socializing I like well enough for a time, it’s just the dancing that gets me. You know the Habsburg-Lorraine girl, Marie Antoinette?”

Adrian nodded. Who didn’t know that pale and skinny bottomless pit of a bitch?

“Yes, well, I was at one of her parties once and forced to dance with her. Twenty seconds in, she starts laughing so hard that everyone stops to look at us and I have to flee before she beats my pride into oblivion.”

“I heard about that, I think. My sister mentioned it, I believe.”

“Who’s your sister? Perhaps she was one of the girls chortling at me.” The boy paused for a beat. “I’m not bitter about what happened, though.”

Adrian snorted. Sure he wasn’t. “That there is my sister,” he said, pointing towards the dance floor, where the silver beads on her bodice were catching the light and subsequently the eyes of all the guests. “The life of the party, the reason everyone is here. She’s an adult now,” he sighed, taking a swig of champagne.

“You’re Anastasie’s brother,” the boy said with a furrowed brow.

“Yep.”

“Adrien. Anastasie’s brother.”

“Yep.”

“The gay one.”

Adrian nearly dropped his champagne. “How _dare_ you!” he exclaimed.

The boy put his hands up defensively, taking a few steps back. “I’m so, so sorry. I don’t know what came over me just then. I realize it was totally unacceptable and unspeakably rude and...why are you laughing?”

It’s true, he was laughing. Nearly doubled over with laughter, champagne sloshing out of the flute as he shook from the force of his amusement. Several minutes passed before Adrian regained his composure.

“You really are a country boy,” Adri chuckled, wiping moisture from his eye. “I heard it in your accent just then, but your reaction, too. I’m not ashamed of my sexuality, monsieur Lafayette. No one else here is, either. Or at least not out loud.”

“Oh, okay,” the Lafayette boy (Gilbert, Henriette had said) murmured, breathing a sigh of relief. “However, I do apologize for being so frank just then. I just hadn’t heard much about you; I didn’t know what to expect. Your mother said you were handsome, but…” he trailed off. “I’m sorry, I haven’t properly introduced myself.” He bowed overdramatically. “Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier, Marquis de Lafayette. Just call me Gilbert or Lafayette. I beg of you. It will save us all much-needed time.”

Adrian was too confused to laugh at Lafayette’s joke. “I’m sorry, when did you talk to my mother about me?”

Lafayette shrugged. “When she met with my uncle a few months back.”

“The meeting about Anastasie?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Well, that’s why you’re here tonight, isn’t it? To woo my little sister?”

“No,” he said slowly, cautiously. “Your mother said she wanted to send me _your_ way.”

“My way?”

“Yes.”

“Towards me?”

“That is the definition.”

Realization finally clicked in Adrian’s mind. “My mother is trying to set me up with _you_?” Lafayette looked minutely offended about where Adrian put his emphasis. “Sorry, not like that. I was under the impression that you were going to be set up with Ana and that I would be forced to befriend you.”

Lafayette shrugged. “We can be friends if you want. We can be not friends if you want. It’s up to you. Just let the record show that your mother did not give your looks the praise they deserve.”

Adrian flushed. “How about this: I give you a crash course on basic dancing, promise not to laugh, and then we join the party long enough to appease my mother before running away.”

Lafayette grinned. “I’d like that very much.”

 

 _And that is how they met,_ Henriette de Noailles concluded with a proud, tearful grin. _A bit of lying, a bit of blackmail, but it worked out in the end._ She wiped away a tear. _Now let’s see how far Gilbert has come since that night in the rose garden, shall we?_

 _You haven’t gotten much better since then,_ Adrian whispered a few minutes later. _If anything, you’re more prone to stepping on stepping on my toes._

Gilbert laughed, pressing a kiss to his cheek. _Yes, but you married me anyway._

Adrian rolled his eyes. _It was only just now. There’s still time to tear up the document._

_You wouldn’t dare._

Adrian sighed, resting his head momentarily on his new husband’s shoulder. _No, I wouldn’t._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I have no idea how French accents work, much less high society.


	4. Alexander

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you live long enough, you begin to see the same eyes in different people.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The moment you've been waiting for....HAMILTON!!!

If someone were to ask Alexander Hamilton what most effectively made a first impression, it would be eyes. He could scarcely remember his own father’s face, but he remembered his eyes: dark green, tired, and always ready to run. His brother had those eyes, too.

His stepfather’s were blue-black and unable to ever hide the loathing he felt for Alexander and James Jr. 

His mother Rachel’s were brown. Warm, dark brown, filled with comfort, love, and deadly independence. Alexander had one of those things (it wasn't any of the good ones).

Alex couldn’t remember the color of his cousin’s eyes. He remembered how blank and glazed-over they were when he found him, though.

Emma had sharp eyes. Decisive and intelligent, but still kind. Sister’s eyes, he would come to call them, once he rediscovered them years later.

Aaron Burr, despite having brown eyes, was reminiscent of James Hamilton, Sr. He was tired of  _ something _ at all times, though Alex could never figure out what it was. Aaron didn’t want to run, though. He just wanted to escape. From what, Alexander never really knew.

Alexander rediscovered his mother’s eyes over a decade after she left him for the same place as his brother and his cousin. That same warm brown with its promise of comfort and unconditional love. He walked across the room to introduce himself to the Senator’s daughter. 

A few years later, he discovered a new type of eyes. Warm like his mother’s, scared like his father’s. It wasn’t love that they were promising, but it was close enough to pull him in.

It was only long after the damage had been done that he realized where he had last seen that type of heartbreak in those mother’s eyes Eliza had.

More years went by, and he found yet another pair of eyes. At first, he only ever saw them as high-resolution pixels, but they were enough. Green-brown, beautiful, and laughing. They had a wild edge to them. An energetic, reckless energy that pulled at something in Alexander’s gut. For  _ months _ , he dreamed of those eyes. Side by side, taking on the world together.

A naive thing to think of someone he had never met, but Alexander couldn’t exactly control his dreams. Of course, because the universe chose a particular occasion to not be cruel to him, his dreams came true in their way. Eliza convinced him to come to a fancy fundraiser, across the dancefloor of which he made contact with a wild pair of beautiful, laughing, green-brown eyes. Before he knew what he was doing, Alexander was on the other side of the room, introducing himself.

Not two hours later, he was in a dark corner, laughing as he kissed the man of his dreams senseless. Between the dark corner and the kissing, Alex couldn’t see his eyes.

He didn’t need to.


	5. America

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A young America Reed meets her new foster family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I skipped over the second Alexander. I just wasn't really feeling him, so I'm gonna change the name of the previous chapter and maybe just add in later. But anyway, here's the titular OC, America! Enjoy!!

_ America _

_ ca. 1996 _

 

“No need to be afraid, sweetheart,” Ms. Mayflower reassured for the hundredth time. “They’re a very nice family, the Washingtons. Lots of space to play and run around, as well as quite a few pets. You like animals, don’t you, America?”

America stayed quiet. Ms. Mayflower didn’t try to talk to America for much of the rest of the drive. Just a couple times to ask if she was hungry and when they were about a mile out from the home. She could have said something when America gasped and sat up to get a better look when they went through the gates to Mount Vernon, but instead chose to look ahead and say nothing. 

The front door opened as the pulled into the end of the driveway. A man and woman stepped out, followed by two kids about America’s age and an energetic border collie. The woman appeared to say something and a pair of teenagers emerged from around a corner. America shrunk down in her seat when she accidentally made eye contact with one of the kids already on the porch. She inhaled sharply, pulling her knees to her chest. Other kids never liked her. She didn’t want four siblings. 

Ms. Mayflower parked the car and reached into the back and patted America’s knee. “You’ll be okay, America. I know the Washingtons well. They really, really want you. Their kids are excited to meet you. You’re gonna be happy here.”

America drew her knees closer. Ms. Mayflower sighed, got out of the car, and went around to America’s passenger door. She opened the door and bent down to America’s eye level. 

“Kiddo, I need you to trust me here.”

“Everything okay?” a concerned female voice asked. It was the woman America had seen on the porch. She was very pretty up close, with friendly brown eyes and long curly hair. “Hey, sweetie,” she said with a smile, giving America a little wave. She looked nice enough, so America gave a halfhearted wave in return. The woman grinned. “I’m Martie,” she said softly, “but you can call me whatever you want, okay?” America nodded, loosening her grip on her legs. “Great! If you come out of the car, honey, I can introduce you to the rest of the family.”

It took seven minutes and much coaxing, but Martie Washington did eventually get America out of the car. She was holding her new foster mother’s hand with her right while clutching her ratty but prized stuffed Snoopy to her chest. When they reached the porch steps, Mr. Washington was waiting, smiling and squatted down to America’s eye level. 

“Hello, America,” he said fondly. “I’m George. I’m gonna take really good care of you, okay?” He gestured to the kids on the porch with his thumb. “We all are. I promise.”

There was something about him that made America trust every word he said. There was a sincerity in his eyes that wiped away much of her anxiety and made her feel  _ safe _ . Before she even knew what she was doing, America had let go of Martie Washington’s hand and thrown herself into George Washington’s arms. He embraced her back without hesitation, holding her firmly but with love. 

“Welcome home, America,” he whispered into her hair.


	6. Angelica

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are things worse than losing someone you love forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What? Two chapters within 24 hours? Who is this?  
> I have no clue.  
> Anyway, enjoy some Angelica angst.

_Angelica_

_2011_

 

“Angelica! John!” Peggy called excitedly, bursting into the apartment. “I know you’re here, so get your clothes on and haul ass.”

“John’s not here,” Angelica replied halfheartedly. “It’s just me,” she said ruefully before taking a long sip from her wine glass.

An oblivious Peggy hurried into the living room and sat down next to her sister on the couch. She was buzzing with so much energy and positivity that it hurt Angelica to think as to how much she was going to break her baby sister’s heart.

“I know you’re not huge on the idea of a big wedding, so I talked to Dad, and he said you could have a little ceremony at the lake house upstate. It could be whenever you want, and could have as many or as few people as you want! I don’t know why we didn’t think of it sooner, honestly.”

Angelica rubbed her forehead and sighed. “Peg, I don’t really feel like talking about it right now.”

Peggy frowned at the bottle of wine on the coffee table. It was at least a third gone. She glanced around the apartment; clearly no one else there. “Angie,” she started, craning her neck as she looked around. “Where’s Moon?”

“With John,” she droned, taking another gulp of wine.

“And where’s John?”

Angelica laughed hollowly. “Now you’re getting it.”

“Angie,” Peggy repeated, panic rising in her throat, “where is John?”

“Fuck if I know, kiddo. He packed up his shit and left about an hour ago.”

“W-why?” Peggy stammered, eyes filling with tears.

The elder Schuyler sighed. “Why do you think, Peg? We broke up. Wedding’s off. I am a single woman once again.”

“But why?” she echoed, tears now flowing freely down her face.

Angelica set down her wine glass and reached over to wipe the tears from Peggy’s cheeks. “It’ll be okay, baby girl. Things aren’t going to change that much. Look, I know this is hard to understand, but it just wasn’t working out, okay? I love John, I really do, but we’ve both felt like something was missing for a while now. And before you say it, we tried everything imaginable. He’s not leaving, Peggy, okay? There’s just going to be a tiny bit more separation.”

Sniffling, Peggy nodded in understanding. Her semblance of composure only lasted a few seconds before she sobbed and fell into her older sister’s embrace. Angelica stroked her hair and whispered soothing things to her. This was really more of Eliza’s department, but Eliza wasn’t here, so Angelica had to make do.

“I don’t want to lose him, too,” Peggy finally said. Her words were nearly indiscernible between the sobs and the muffling provided by Angelica’s shirt, but the rumble of speech against her chest was enough to fill in the gaps.

“You’re not going to lose him,” Angelica reassured. “None of us are. This doesn’t have anything to do with you, okay?”

“I love him a lot, though.”

Angelica drew in a sharp breath. That one hit a nerve. “I know, baby,” she choked. “Trust me, I know.”


	7. Anna

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life is weird and hectic when you work in the news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we're taking our first venture outside of the realm of Hamilton! This story centers on Anna Strong, a Revolutionary War-era member of the Culper Ring, George Washington's super secret spy ring. In the AU, she works for Angelica and John Church. Enjoy!

_Anna_

_Summer 2016_

 

“Anna, come look at this!” Paul called.

Anna sighed. “Can it wait five minutes? I’m putting the finishing touches on this piece.”

“It’ll take two seconds, I swear!”

With a groan, Anna pushed her chair away from her desk and walked over to Paul’s cubicle. “What?” she asked irritably, leaning against the low wall.

“You know how the GOP has been railing against the media?”

“Yeah.”

“Us in particular?”

“By which you mean _Never Satisfied_ , right?”

“Yep.”

“Yeah.”

“Well,” Paul chuckled and turned the monitor of his computer to face her, “they have gone to a whole new level of crazy. Our people at the RNC in Cleveland right now are apparently _not_ looking to report on the goings-on of the convention, but in fact stalking Trump officials in hopes of getting campaign secrets and passing them on to Washington.”

“You’re shitting me,” she said, leaning closer to the screen. Sure enough, there was the article: _Trump Claims ‘Never Satisfied News’ Journalists are Spies for Washington Campaign_.

Anna laughed. “The man’s off his rocker!”

“It’s not even a rocker. It’s a golden throne with questionable stability. But anyway, it gets better. Allegedly, NSN has moles in the Trump team who - and this is the best part - report to _you and I_ , and then _we_ send the information to Washington’s folks.”

“That’s random as hell. Why us?”

Paul changed tabs. “I think - and other news outlets have backed me up on this - that it was just association. We’re considered to be Angelica and Church’s right hand, and a lot of people are under the impression that I’m important because I helped set up the Boston branch. Calling out Church wouldn’t have been exactly out of character, but he and Angelica are a package deal when it comes to this company-”

“And Angelica is surprisingly influential with women on both sides of the aisle,” Anna finished. “Not to mention Philip Schuyler’s daughter. So attack the underlings, just not the big bosses, huh?”

“Appears so. Might have had to do with you growing up with Tallmadge and Selah’s endorsement, too, though.”

“Selah’s _what?_ ” Anna shrieked.

Paul jumped, causing his chair to roll back and hit the wall of the cubicle. “I thought you knew!” he insisted, raising his hands in surrender. “Please don’t hurt me,” he squeaked.

“Paul Revere,” Anna growled, “did my husband make a public endorsement _without telling me_?”

“...maybe?”

Anna groaned and slumped against the edge of the cubicle. “And he said he wasn’t going to stress me out, either. I have to go call him now.”

“I’ll finish your editing for you,” Revere offered. “It’s the least I can do.”

“Thanks, Paul.”

 

Selah picked up the phone almost immediately.

_“Annie, baby, I can explain-”_

“Don’t,” she interrupted. “Selah, you made me a promise.”

_“I thought you’d like my endorsing Washington!”_

“I do, but I need to know these things in advance.”

_“I was going to tell you, but we got interrupted…repeatedly. I was planning on telling you this morning, but then Angelica called you in and said it was urgent.”_

“You could have called me! I was in a cab for twenty-five minutes.”

_“That was when Sam Adams called to work out details. Look, it wasn’t intentional. Things just...didn’t work out as I’d hoped.”_

“You’re so dead when I get home.”

_“Wouldn’t expect anything less of you.”_


	8. Bethany

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beth Franklin butts heads with people from time to time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I genderswapped Benjamin Franklin. Fight me.

_Bethany_

_2016_

 

“You are the weirdest fucking person I have ever met.”

Beth was taken aback. Not by the statement, but by the fact that she had never heard John Adams swear before. It wasn’t just her, either. Everyone else was staring at Adams, open-mouthed and wide-eyed with shock.

“I mean,” she chuckled, “you’re not the first to tell me that, but may I ask why you chose now to express it?”

“I don’t know how to take you seriously. You’re erratic and scatterbrained and I can’t think of a single major contribution you’ve made since you’ve joined this campaign.”

“John, please,” Jefferson begged, reaching out to his best friend. “This isn’t the time.”

“Isn’t it?” Adams snapped. “I’m here working day and night on speeches and strategy while she rambles on Twitter and publishes essays on _flatulence_.”

Beth rolled her eyes. “You have a kid, for crying out loud. You’re allowed to say ‘fart’. And that was for _The_ _Onion_. You’re not supposed to take it seriously.”

“But I’m supposed to take _you_ seriously?”

“I never said that. I _said_ that it would be of great help if you _trusted_ me. You’re in charge of appealing to New England snobs so they give us money, and I’m here to get the campaign some youth support. God knows Washington’s kids don’t exactly resonate with a lot of our missing demographics.”

“That’s because we’re privileged minorities,” America said from the corner of the room, not looking up from her laptop.

“She’s right,” Beth agreed. “All college-educated, all successful in one way or another. Doesn’t help that the two eldest are a cop and in Australia, respectively. The other two, helpful as they are, have nothing to say and try to be unaligned with their political views. Oh, and they’re not actually the man’s kids. So yeah, I’m interacting with twentysomethings on Twitter and guest starring for late night TV hosts. Why? Because I’m young but not too young, I’m black but not too black, I wasn’t born into privilege, I speak their language, and I don’t look down my nose at everyone.”

Beth and Adams were glaring at each other across the table, looking ready to pounce, when the rest of Washington’s inner circle entered the room.

“What’s going on?” Washington demanded.

“They’re being difficult,” Jefferson replied with an exhausted sigh, running a hand through his curls. Beth didn’t know how he stood them; she always straightened her hair to avoid the hassle.

“He’s being picky,” Beth corrected, “I’m being rational.”

“You wouldn’t know rationality if it scratched off your face,” Adams retorted, uncharacteristically childish.

“Scratching off my face doesn’t seem like a very rational action, though.”

Adams groaned and dropped his head into his hands. “George, please get your trained raven away from me.”

“Hey, I’m from Massachusetts, same as you Besides, ravens are Baltimore, not Philly. And I _know_ that’s not a black thing-”

“Bethany,” Washington interrupted. “Not the time.”

“Sorry, gov. Anyway, John thinks I’m too crazy and immature to be taken seriously.”

“And what do you think?” Hamilton asked curiously. He was obviously trying to start shit, but Beth didn’t care.

“I think he’s got a stick up his lily-white ass,” she replied firmly, unable to hold back a smirk.

“You wrote an essay called _Fart Proudly_ ,” Adams cried.

“It’s a perfectly natural bodily function! Everyone farts, so long as they’re not the damn dictator of North Korea!”

Washington sighed and looked to Jefferson. “Thomas, how did this even begin?”

Jefferson scratched the back of his head. “To be honest, sir, I’m not entirely sure. We were discussing timetables for the coming months, Franklin said something quite characteristic about midwestern tourist traps, and then we somehow ended up here.”

Washington pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to process information calmly. “John, Bethany, I know you have significantly different roles in this campaign, but I need you to try and get along. I can't have everybody hating one another.”

Beth frowned. “What makes you think I don’t like Adams?”

“The fact that you were all but screaming at him when we came in?” Hamilton offered.

She waved it off. “So we don’t see eye-to-eye on everything. Big whoop. Look, Johnny, I’ve got a load of respect for you and then some, but lighten up for chrissakes! Nobody is ever going to check off all the boxes in your ‘perfect human’ list, so please just shut up about our differences and remember that we’ve got things in common, okay?”

Silence fell over the room for several tense moments. Eventually, Adams sighed heavily and nodded. The other occupants of the room sat down, and Beth leaned back in her chair and smiled.

Point Franklin.

As per usual.


	9. Charles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aren't dogs just the best?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And back to characters that were actually in Hamilton! Also, this chapter is unofficially dedicated to my dear friend and the leebury QUEEN of the au, Bexxie!

_ Charles _

_ Late Summer, 2016 _

 

“What the shit is wrong with you, dog?” Charles muttered to himself, watching Spado run in hyperactive circles around the dressing room. All the other dogs were taking their afternoon nap, save Isabel, who was glaring at the Pomeranian’s antics. That may have been her naturally grumpy French bulldog face, but either way, she was clearly unhappy. “Did someone put espresso in your kibble this morning?”

“I don’t generally eat kibble in the mornings.” George was standing in the doorway, smiling like he’d said something clever. He hadn’t. Lee told him as much. “It was a weak attempt anyway. What is going on with Spado, though?”

“Honestly, I got no fuckin’ clue. He’s been like this for five minutes now.” Even with the new person present, Spado was still holding his course. The only noise in the room was coming from him - panting, the patter of running feet, and the jingle of a collar. “I’m thinking one of the interns is gonna need to take him out for a w-a-l-k to help him blow off steam.”

George leaned into the dressing room to look at the dogpile in the corner. He frowned. “There’s only three sleeping there.”

Lee sighed. “Yeah, I know. Spado’s just energetic today and it was getting Cato riled up, so…” He waved his hand in a gesture that said nothing at all, but still quite a bit. There was a pause as they watched the dog continue to sprint around. Eventually, Spado stopped dead in his tracks, shook his head, trotted over to where the other dogs were sleeping and flopped down for a nap. Lee laughed. “You know, it just occurred to me recently that having ten dogs and a full-time job like this one might not be an amazing idea.”

George couldn’t help it. He burst out laughing. Deep, shaking, wheezing, full-body laughter, loud enough to earn more than a few looks from passing staff members. As much as Lee would never admit it, he thought that seeing George laugh was a very endearing sight, thanks to the way his eyes scrunched up and his cheeks turned pink. Sam’s laugh was much the same, but just more adorable. Their face just had a youthful quality to it that made everything seem -

“Earth to Charles,” said George, poking Lee in the side. “Do I need to dump a bucket of cold water on your head?”

“If you do, they’ll never find your body,” he growled in return.

“There you are!” George exclaimed happily, ignoring the threat. He was used to them by now. “What were you thinking about, hmm?”

“How much of a complete moron you look like when you laugh.” It was a half-truth, anyway. “How long was I out?”

George waved his hand dismissively. “Not even ten seconds. I just know your tell by now. What  _ were _ you thinking about, though?” The look in the Englishman’s eye gave Charles the feeling that he didn’t really have to say anything to answer the question.

For better or worse, the universe took over before either of them could say anything.

“There you are!” Sam exclaimed, sidling up next to George and nudging his hip. “Peggy wants to go over some adjustments the writing team made. By the way, is Cato okay? I saw him on his own with Lila earlier, and I can see all the other pups there in their corner.”

Charles nodded dumbly. The observation had thrown him a bit. George smirked at the look on his face. “Spado riled ‘im up,” Charles managed to get out, despite his mouth suddenly feeling like cotton. “Had to put him in time-out. Not that he considers Lila punishment, but…”

Sam giggled, nodding in understanding. There was that smile, that eye-scrunching, that jump at the bottom of Charles’ stomach, down so deep that he hadn’t acknowledged it since he was a teenager in military school and trying to fit the mold and-

He had work to do.

Charles straightened (as much as he could, given said repressed feelings) and snapped back into the moment. George gave him a warm smile. “Better get going,” he said, in a voice too warm and quiet for his personality.

“We all should,” Sam agreed, clearly puzzled by the exchange going on in front of them. “Wouldn’t want to keep Peggy waiting.”

“Certainly wouldn’t,” said George, patting Sam’s cheek as he breezed out of the dressing room. 

“You four be good while I’m gone,” Lee told the dogs as he turned off the light in the dressing room.

“Ugh, they’re so cute!” Sam cooed, standing in the doorway a moment longer to catch a glimpse of their sleeping forms. 

“They certainly are,” Charles agreed, heading down the hall with his hands in his pockets, trying to look much more casual than he felt.

“Probably get it from their daddy, huh?”

Charles all but fell flat on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I'm done trying to limit myself to 500 words. This one's over 800.


	10. Charlotte

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Attached was a brief line of text from Laurens.  
> I think your feeling was right. I’ve got it too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just love Lea Michele and Groff, okay?

_ Charlotte _

_ 2012 _

 

“I don’t think we should do musical guests,” Laurens said, tapping his pen on the table. “I think we’re best off making jokes and interviewing people.”

“That’s a shame,” Charlotte said sadly. “I was hoping to perform at your series premiere. This is going to be an amazing show. You know that, right?”

Laurens smiled. The bags under his eyes were becoming more pronounced. “Thanks, Char. And who knows, maybe we’ll find a way to squeeze you in. You’re the reason we have George, after all.”

Charlotte was cut off by a buzzing from her pocket. She excused herself and went out onto the balcony to answer her phone. “This is Charlotte,” she said evenly.

_ “It’s me, love,” _ George laughed. 

“Sorry, I didn’t see the contact. What’s going on?” He didn’t sound like anything bad had happened. 

_ “I’m stuck in traffic, but that’s aside from the point. There’s this story blowing up on Twitter, and I think Laurens and Tasha should have a look at it.” _

“Why call me, then?”

_ “I miss your voice!” _

“It’s been four hours, darling.”

_ “Four eternities, you mean!” _

“Alright, calm down, you nutter. What’s the name of the story you want me to look up?” Charlotte poked her head into the apartment and caught Tasha’s attention, giving her a gesture that meant ‘I’m about to tell you something’.

_ “Well, just tell them to look up a bloke named Alexander Hamilton. That should be about all that’s needed.” _

“Alexander Hamilton. Got it.” 

Tasha nodded and opened a new tab on her laptop to search the name. Right as Charlotte hung up the phone, Peggy entered the room, looking much more miserable than she had a few minutes prior.

“Please don’t tell me you said Alexander Hamilton,” Peggy begged, sliding into her seat at the table.

“You know this man?” Charlotte asked, looking at the articles that had popped up from Tasha’s search. “New York lawyer threatens violence after alleged racist taunts,” she recited. “I can see how that will be a spot on somebody’s reputation, but what’s the big deal?”

“Alex is an immigrant. He’s an absolutely brilliant guy - made it through Columbia Law on a crap load of scholarships, got a great job right after passing the bar - but he’s got an ego the size of the moon and the shortest fuse in all the land. He and Eliza went out for a while, and they’re still friends or whatever, but that’s just not the point. He gets touchy about his immigrant status. Feels like he constantly has to prove he’s American or some crap. I mean, this was probably over some douchebag hearing him speak Spanish and telling him to go back to his own country or just speak English.”

“That’s about what the article says,” Charlotte agreed. “George and I get that sometimes. Occasional dirty looks when we speak German in public, even just holding hands in some places. I was a bit of a freak to some people in the U.K., to be honest. The Italian Jew from Germany walking around London, you know? Well, actually, I guess you don’t entirely. Something I like about America, actually. German isn’t a bad language, per se. Should we wake him up?” Charlotte pointed to Laurens, who had fallen asleep at the table and was using his notebook as a pillow.

Peggy laughed. “Yeah, probably.” She nudged his shoulder. “Hey, John, wake up.”

Laurens groaned out something that sounded like ‘shut the fuck up’, but Charlotte wasn’t sure.

“Come on, John. My sister’s ex did some crazy shit again.”

Laurens shot up before Peggy even finished her sentence. “The hot one?” he asked hopefully. Charlotte repressed a giggle. There was pure puppy love written all over Laurens’ face. She was just lucky enough to wake up next to it every day.

“How the fuck am I supposed to know?” Peggy asked irritably. “He’s the crazy one that she still talks to for some unknown reason.”

“So it  _ is _ the hot one?” Laurens urged.

“Don’t tell George that,” Tasha muttered in singsong. Charlotte couldn’t keep in a laugh that time. Her husband really did love being the hot one in every situation.

_ Husband. _

It never got old, saying that.

“He’s cute, okay?” Laurens exclaimed, throwing his hands into the air. “Fucking sue me, Schuyler. I think your sister’s ex is hot! I have a dumb crush on someone I’ve never met! It’ll probably never meet him! I’ve accepted that! Can we move on now?”

“I don’t think that’s true,” Charlotte said. The words came out before she could stop them.

Laurens gave her a confused look. “What do you mean? What’s not true?”

Charlotte hesitated. There was so much puppy love in his eyes. “I don’t think it’s true that you’ll never meet him. If anything, you’ll see him so much you get sick of him.”

“Yeah, but that only takes five minutes,” Peggy interrupted.

“Hush, you,” Charlotte ordered. “Look, I just…” she grasped for a word, a phrase, “I have a feeling, silly as it sounds. I think there’s going to be something there.”

They never mentioned it again, not until many months later, when Charlotte’s phone buzzed at three in the morning. The message was short, but meaningful. It was a picture of Laurens and Hamilton, hugging and smiling like idiots for the camera. Attached was a brief line of text from Laurens.

_ I think your feeling was right. I’ve got it too. _

Content that her work was done, Charlotte shut off her phone and went back to sleep. When she woke up a few hours later, she was met with a messy blond head and a pair of puppy dog eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm SO sorry if I got things wrong on the Europe front I'm from the hyper-liberal part of the USA and I was only mostly awake when I wrote this!!


	11. Daniel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daniel stands fast as a mama's boy.

_Daniel_

_ca. 1996_

 

“I'm not sharing mami,” Daniel decided with all the conviction of a six-year-old. (Although he was nearly seven, so it was the now more matured conviction of a six-year-old)

Jon rolled his eyes. “You share her with four people already. What's one more? Besides, you're always saying you want a different sister.”

“Hey!” Francesca cried, offended. The sudden jerk of her head caused Marie to cry out in pain as Francesca inadvertently pulled on the braid she was finishing.

“You kids playing nice?” Mami asked, poking her head into the playroom. Jon and Fran didn't like calling it the playroom, but that's what it was.

“ _Por supuesto_ ,” Marie replied sweetly, taking pride in her perfect pronunciation. Fran made an annoyed noise. She was the worst at Spanish of all of them, and Marie loved to rub it in her face.

“Daniel’s already decided that he hates the foster kid,” Jon said, flipping the page of his book absently.

“That's not what I said!” Daniel cried, becoming increasingly frustrated with his siblings. He didn’t want Mami getting upset with him.

“It kind of is, Danny,” Fran agreed hesitantly.

Martha Washington frowned. It wasn’t her disappointed frown, but it was her concerned frown. She reached out her hand. “ _Papito, vengate aquí por favor,_ ” she requested gently.

Never one to ignore his mother, Daniel scrambled over to the playroom door and took her outstretched hand. After a quick warning to the other children to behave themselves, Martha led Daniel down the halls of Mount Vernon until they reached the back door. Well, it was one of many back doors, but it was Daniel’s favorite. It looked right out onto his mother’s flower garden and had a few wide steps that were great for playing with trucks or just sitting on when playing fetch with a dog. The sun shone there most of the day, and this was no exception. There was a pleasant warmth over Daniel as he sat down on the lawn near the steps next to his mother.

“Daniel…” she sighed, not knowing where to begin. “ _Mi amor_ , are you upset about getting a new sibling?”

Daniel shook his head, plucking a blade of grass.

“Then what is it you’re upset about?”

Daniel shrugged.

“Baby,” she said softly, brushing aside his curls to cup his cheek, “I can’t make it better if you don’t tell me the problem.”

He weighed the options in his head. There was always the chance that Mami wouldn’t be upset, that it would be perfectly normal to feel anxious about a new addition to the household. On the other hand, she could get upset at him for being so selfish and not wanting to share his mother anymore. And then, of course, there was the bit he had overheard from Jon and Francesca a few weeks ago.

_Why do they want a foster kid? Isn’t this place already kind of at maximum capacity?_ Fran had whispered, trying to be discreet.

Jon didn’t care for such things. _Because George is the new husband, obviously. They need to have a kid of their own to validate their marriage. We’re the stepkids. Charity at best._

_You don’t think they’ll say that about a foster kid, too?_

_Yeah, well, fostering is totally optional. We were the fine print of the marriage._

Fran had then scolded Jon for being so negative, and did get him to apologize, but Daniel had already run away.

“I don’t want to share anymore,” Daniel admitted, lip trembling. “I don’t want you to need a new kid because George doesn’t like us. I don’t-”

Martha shushed her now crying son and pulled him into an embrace. She rocked softly from side to side as he cried, murmuring _it’s okay, it’s okay, mijito_ into his hair. Even as he leaked tears and snot onto her blouse, she held on. After a few minutes, once his crying lightened, Martha pressed a kiss onto the top of his head. She got a face full of curls for her troubles, but she was always happy to be reminded of the beautiful trait she had passed on to her son.

“I’m not upset, Daniel,” she soothed, rubbing his back. “I know the house is full, but we’re not doing this because George doesn’t like you and Marie and Francesca and Jon. We’re doing this because there’s a little girl who needs not just a mother and father she can rely on, but kids she can trust, too. She’s going to be your sister through and through. You’re the same age, so I’ll need your help more than anyone. Can I count on you?” Daniel made a sound that was neither an affirmation nor a denial. “How about this: I’ll tell you about her, so you won’t be total strangers. That sound good?”

Daniel nodded, wiping snot off of his upper lip.

“Great. What do you want to know first?”

“What’s her name?” he asked between sniffles.

“America.”

Daniel giggled. “Really?”

“Yep! Do you want to know why her name is America?” Daniel nodded eagerly. “Her birthday is the Fourth of July!”

“That’s so cool!”

“Isn’t it? Okay, what else?”

They spent the next forty-five minutes going back and forth, exchanging facts and enthusiasm and ideas. By the time they got up to go inside for lunch, Daniel was feeling much better. He realized, with all the wisdom of an almost seven-year-old, that he wouldn’t be sharing his mother with this new sibling. Not after his mother had shared her first.

He made sure the Fourth of July was always marked ‘America’ on his calendar from then on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spanish Translations!  
> Por supuesto: of course  
> Papito, vengate aquí por favor: honey, come here, please  
> mi amor: my love  
> mijito: baby, sweetheart (in reference to a boy)


	12. Dolley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some dinner gathering banter.

_Dolley_

_2015_

 

“I can't decide which I need most urgently right now: a toilet, a sandwich, or a nap,” Abigail groaned, leaning back into the couch.

Dolley laughed. “You can do what I did, back in the day. Eat while you’re on the toilet, and then keep leftovers and/or a backup sandwich by the bed for naptime convenience. Everyone wins.”

Abigail made a noise of agreement, settled her feet on the coffee table, and put her hands on top of her ever-growing belly in lieu of doing any of the things she’d said she needed to. “John gets picky about where I eat in the house, and I’m not as good at covering my tracks as I was a couple months ago. I keep telling him he’s gonna need to get used to mess, though, seeing as Junior is less than ten weeks away.”

“Oh, and the countdown begins, huh? Used to drive John Todd crazy when I would count down the days. Said it stressed him out. I get where he was coming from, but it still pissed me the hell off, you know? I'm the one growing a person and _you're_ stressed?”

Abigail laughed, nodding emphatically. “One hundred percent, sister. You’re like a superhero, you know that? Had a kid halfway through college, got your Bachelor’s with a toddler, went through grad school as a single mom and _still_ managed to get your doctorate before the age of 30. Just thinking about it exhausts me.”

“Hey, I’m not the one that made it to Congress crazy young.”

“And then had to leave because she got pregnant,” Abigail reminded, rubbing her stomach fondly.”

“You had a good couple terms, considering you were in the minority.”

“In more ways than one!” John Adams called from the kitchen.

“There are more of us than there are of you,” Dolley shot back. “Don’t start this with me.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Dolley leaned towards Abigail and asked in a hushed voice, “have you got any names picked out?”

Abigail nodded eagerly. “John is pushing for Quincy like you wouldn’t _believe_.”

“Quincy Adams,” Dolley echoed, feeling out the name. “I dunno. Feels like it’s missing something, doesn’t it?”

“That’s what I’ve been saying! But then I started thinking about Payne and his name, and I thought of _John_ Quincy.”

“Ooh! That actually has a nice cadence to it!”

“Right? John’s being resistant to it, though.”

“It’s perfect!”

“That’s what I keep telling him!”

“Excuse me for not wanting to be the guy who names his kid after himself,” Adams retorted, setting down a plate of fruit on the coffee table.

“Also, being a John fucking _sucks_ ,” Payne added, flopping into a chair next to his mother.

“Watch your language,” Dolley scolded, “there are children present.” Abigail pointed to her bump to prove Dolley’s point.

Payne rolled his eyes. “It can’t hear, Mom.”

“Yes, it can,” Adams corrected. “It most certainly can. Not to say that he can process what he’s hearing, but he can hear. Also, I agree with you on the matter of being a John. You’re at the top of the dull pile.”

“Oh, that has nothing to do with your name,” Jefferson remarked with a smirk, coming into the living room with James at his heels. It seemed that being home did some good for his mood. “But what did you say the name was? I didn’t quite catch it.”

“John Quincy Adams,” Abigail recited proudly.

“Not bad. Certainly better than John Adams, Jr.”

“Being a Jr. isn’t all bad,” James argued.

“Dear, you don’t use it,” Dolley reminded. “You’re just James Madison.”

“That’s a personal choice.”

“I forget it’s there,” Jefferson admitted. “But Abigail, I thought you said you were considering Charles. What about Charles Quincy or Quincy Charles?

“It sounds bad when you stick an Adams at the end of it,” Dolley supplemented, having been through the process. “The ‘s’ at the end of both Charles and Adams sounds awful.”

“If only we all had names as lovely as Dolley,” Jefferson teased.

“Everyone spells it wrong. They say I go overboard with the vowels.”

“Nah, you’re perfect.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I found out yesterday that Dolley Madison was Jefferson's first FLOTUS of two (his daughter was the second) as his wife was deceased, so I like to think that they're friends in the AU.


	13. Eliza

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Love. What else?

_Eliza_

_Early Autumn, 2016_

 

_Love is warmth_ , decided a young Elizabeth Schuyler. She watched her younger siblings, still too young to stand, clumsily passing a toy back and forth between one another and occasionally bursting into uncontrollable laughter because life was just so beautiful and funny to them. She’s supposed to be doing her homework, but the twins are too cute and distract her easily. From the looks of it, Angelica is having the same problem. Eliza giggles at the frown forming on her older sister’s face. It sends the twins into a fit of giggles once again.

Nearly three decades later, she finds herself playing the same game with a baby of her own. Philip hands her the little, stuffed duck, she hands it back, he sticks it in his mouth, and then hands it over to his mother once again. Kloe is sitting on the couch, supposedly doing her English homework, but Eliza can feel the fond smile on Kloe’s face. She reaches over and moves a dark curl from Philip’s forehead. He gurgles and grabs at her thumb, delighting in the length of her fingers in comparison to his short, stubby ones. She hopes they’ll one day grow into pianist’s fingers like hers, but knows she’ll love him no matter what.

Eliza has work to do, too, but not for another twenty minutes will it truly demand her attention. She’s not sure when, but she starts humming her piano warm-up song, because eventually Kloe starts singing along with her.

“ _Un deux trois quatre cinq six sept huit neuf._ ” Beat. “ _One two three four five six seven eight nine._ ”

Philip started clapping, almost perfectly in tune. Kloe laughed.

“I think he’s gonna be a natural musician someday, Mom. Once we find his xylophone, he’ll be the next Mozart. He’ll tour the world and dazzle everyone!”

Eliza laughed at her daughter’s enthusiasm. “Wouldn’t that be something? I would like to point out, though, that Mozart’s older sister was even better than he was, so he can’t be a world-famous musician until you are, got it?”

“Yes, ma’am!” There was a knock at the door. “I’ll get it!” Kloe declared, hopping off the couch and running towards the door.

“Who does your big sister think that is, hmm?” Eliza asked Philip quietly, holding him upright so he could test out bending his legs. He hadn’t yet mastered crawling but assisted standing made him so happy that Eliza indulged him frequently.

“There he is!” cried a familiar accented voice. Eliza looked up, a grin already cracking her face in two. It appeared that Kloe had invited the Baron over without informing her mother. “ _Bonjour, Liesl,_ ” he greeted, combining his favored languages as he kissed her cheek.

“Salut, Friedrich,” she replied, turning Philip so he could see the Baron. “What are you doing here? Did something happen to Alexander?”

“Oh, no. Well, nothing out of the ordinary. Washington ‘kicked me out’ as you say, and so I figured I would come over and watch Philip for you during your piano lessons. Seeing as _Dieser schreckliche Ehemann_ of yours has forgotten the last four times.”

“He’s not a terrible husband,” Eliza scolded, lowered Philip back into a seated position and gave him the stuffed duck, which promptly entered his mouth. “Honestly, what did I buy pacifiers for? They’re the only things that _don’t_ go into his mouth. When he does use them, they wind up on the floor within a few minutes. I think he’s outgrown them.”

Baron shrugged. “Everyone is different. You know, I forget he’s not actually a biological mix of you and Alexander. He looks the part to me. Big brown eyes and a love for the world. So very much like you.”

Eliza smiled and pressed a kiss to the Baron’s cheek. _Love is warmth_ , she remembered, soaking in the comfortable aura of being with Kloe and Philip and the baron; of being around people who loved her. She tapped her phone to check the time and her siblings were smiling up at her. Were she to unlock her phone, Church and Alexander would be there with Philip and a pair of infectious grins. When she turned on her computer to work, all her kids would be smiling at her from the background. Both the computer’s screensaver and the electronic picture frame on her desk would provide her with a slideshow of all her friends and family in various states of elation. Every time she saw those pictures, it made her day just a little bit brighter. It was for that exact reason that her house was covered in photos. Though each one was not worth a thousand words, they were worth just enough to make it home.

_This is love,_ she thought, leaning down to pepper her son’s face with kisses because his big, chubby cheeks were just asking for it. _Home._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was this disgustingly pure and heartwarming enough to be Eliza? I don't know. I hope so.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Leave comments and/or constructive criticism and I'll get back to you as soon as possible!


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